A few things you might like to note:
First, this is no longer a continuation of the set of Meeting Harry one shots. Too many irreconcilable plot holes for a longer fic to excuse, mostly (starting with the fact that the Enterprise already has a chef). But also partly because I want to play with TOS a little bit too.
Second, for the first series of TOS, they produced the episodes in a different order to that which they aired them in. So, to avoid any future confusion, I'm going by air date. (Kinda excluding The Cage, because that's Pike, not Kirk). And, because the first series is the one I know best, we're starting from the beginning! Because Harry's not one of the bridge crew (and I'm hoping most of you have seen all of TOS) I'm probably not going to go into too much detail about the missions themselves (probably. Well. Maybe occasionally). ANYWAY, this fic spans the first two episodes: The Man Trap and Charlie X. But mostly it's about Harry flirting with Bones.
The Ideas of Living Series so far:
A Brief History of Wizarding Kind – (www[dot]fanfiction[dot]net/s/ 7992749)
For the collection in one place visit www(dot)archiveofourown(dot)org/series/13855
It took a little over seven years between Harry's compulsion spell and the arrival of Muggles. He had thought, at the beginning of the wait, that sooner would be better but he soon learned otherwise.
Harry had cut himself off from the society the wizarding world had made for itself, made himself a pariah from the peoples who looked to him for guidance. He was the kooky magician on the hill; the prophet from old fantasy books. Visited only when advice or help was sought. He'd not gone quite so far as to actually live in a cave on top of a misty mountain, but he had grown quite skilled at glamour charms and his sense of humour was inherited from the Marauders after all. His home was a cottage on top of a bit of an incline a few miles outside of the capital, but a few well placed spells and he had any visitors convinced that his front porch was a cave. It was a bit childish, perhaps, but it kept him amused and the gawkers away.
Knowing he was going to leave before too long, however, changed his priorities. These were his people. The people he had saved and safe guarded for well over two centuries. There were none now alive who remembered the horrors first hand, with the exception of himself and perchance one or two of the elder centaurs, and all that was left was a racial memory of being wronged. He needed to make sure that any notion of vengeance was purged before he left. Before they arrived to take him.
So he started talking to others again. He had always kept in contact with his line - his descendants - but it had always been an uneasy relationship. Only Albus Severus, his second son, had learnt how to properly respect his father. Open arms, a complete disregard of the fact that his father looked like a brother, then a son, then a great-grandson. To Albus he had always been 'Daddy', even when he'd lived his first century looking every one of his hundred years while Harry remained youthful.
The others - Lily, Jamie and Hermione and Ron's children, and the next generation after them - they had all taken Albus' lead. But when Albus died, they lost that crutch. And Harry suddenly found his children and grandchildren treating him like a vagrant adolescent, or worse, as the hero and saviour that everyone else did. Visits had been perfunctory at the most. Now, Harry almost mourned the loss of family. Almost, but not quite.
Frederick Potter, the current 'alpha male' of the Potter tribe and its various offshoots, was a strange man. He was Harry's direct heir, with too many 'great's to add to the grandson for Harry to care to count. And his attitude towards the patriarch of his line swung back and forth between irritable and totally cowed. He disliked Harry, that much was clear, but he stood in awe of him too, a long-lived respect rearing its head when the man's temper flared. Needlessly to say, Harry distrusted him. If he was to leave he needed to leave a strong ruler in his wake, and this was not he.
Frederick had two young sons, twin boys - an irony that only Harry knew to appreciate - who both might have been options, had they been older. But they were only starting magic school when Harry reacquainted himself with society - too young yet. So Harry broadened his search. Looked at everyone. Wandered the streets seeing who was a natural leader among the people. He visited various societies and clubs, talked to the ministry that had set itself up.
Eventually he settled for a young woman who he rather suspected was of Tonk's and Remy's line. Both had died in the Eugenic battles, but their young son, Teddy, had been taken under Harry and Ginny's wing as they fled. There had been a clumsy quietude to the werewolf and metamorphmagus' son that he had inherited from both of them. The young woman - Fiona - did not have the Lupin name, but many of the older names had gradually faded from society at large.
Harry had taken Fiona - then twenty four - into his tutelage along with the mischievous twins that, aside from their hair, reminded him so much of the long-passed Weasley twins. It didn't do to dwell, but sometimes, he'd catch a glimpse of his old friends in this newest generation and it made him feel so old. It was definitely time to move on. Fiona and the twins learnt well and gained the respect of all four of the quadrants as the twin's pranks became fewer and Fiona's words began to mean more than just another ill contented witch's moans.
They knew, of course. Not society at a large, but Harry's three personal 'chosen ones'. They knew that he was leaving, that soon the Muggles would come and Harry planned to go with them. Everyone knew that the wards on the planet were such that, should anything remotely electrical come anywhere near, it would soon power down, the energy keeping it going disintegrating. So they weren't worried about the Muggles staying. They could run all the experiments they liked, but it wouldn't do them any good where the only experiments were the magical or old-fashioned ones.
Fiona and the twins knew that once Harry left he would not be coming back. They knew that he hated seeing the shadows of long-lost friends in the faces of people that would never know him like they had. They were sad for it, but happy too. They would, perhaps, lose their hero. But they could not lose Harry, not when he hadn't really been theirs to begin with.
The twins planned. There was no room for fond farewells, if they were to do this right. It had to be a clean cut. So they made a prank portkey. They were not of huge magical power but between them, with several years adding to the spell work, they knew that it would land Harry directly in the heart of any spaceship that came near their planet. They had based this off the design of the decrepit old ship that had originally brought them, the skeleton of which towered over one corner of the Ravenclaw quadrant. So there was no knowing if the new spaceships might be at all similar in design, but the portkey wouldn't put Harry anywhere he might be harmed - they ensured that too - so they weren't worried.
Well, maybe a little bit. But not too much. After all, Harry had always been and would always remain the Boy-Who-Lived.
What they hadn't counted on was the Muggles landing. They had assumed that the explorers would wait and watch and make sure that the force field around their planet wouldn't harm them. And as soon as they learnt it would that they would leave, Harry safely on board. But no.
It arrived like a great silver shadow in the sky, and the twins had thrown their specialised portkey to their mentor, who had promptly disappeared. Then, about half an hour later, ten men and women had appeared in the centre square of the Gryffindor quadrant. Fiona had tried to talk, but it was Frederick who the people chose and the twins could only wait and worry and hope that Harry might save them or the Muggle's system hadn't degraded so much that they would be able to disappear straight back where they came from.
It worked out in the end, of course, because Harry played hero. When he had landed it was in one of the smaller hallways of the ship, leading directly to the medical bay. He had never travelled well with portkeys, but this one put the title 'long distance' to shame. He'd travelled several thousands of miles, out of the atmosphere and landed on a ship where the gravity boosters were ever so slightly weaker than the natural gravity of the planet below. Harry threw up spectacularly. He had just enough presence of mind to mutter a cleaning charm before he passed out.
He woke only a few minutes later - just long enough for his body to regain some kind of equilibrium and reduce his chances of vomiting again, when he heard voices - or rather just the one voice - cursing up a storm just down the hallway. Ever curious and somewhat delighted to work out that he was actually on a Muggle spacecraft, Harry did another quick charm to clean his mouth and freshen his breath before he followed the shouting so that he could make first contact.
"Dammit Chapel! I'm a doctor, not his bodyguard! I only just fixed his shattered shin bone, and off he goes again! Fucking asshole doesn't know the first thing about taking care of himself - excuse my language," a brunet man was shouting, while a young blonde woman who looked far too amused by everything, busied herself with some sort of handheld device.
"Er," Harry began, instantly grabbing their attention. "Excuse me?"
"For what?" the man shouted, before recollecting himself and straightening. "Sorry. The Captain again, damn fool boy winds me right up. How can I help?"
Harry grinned shyly, wondering what kind of Captain it was who was well enough known to rile up this man that he felt comfortable sharing the fact with a stranger. "I - er -" he could almost hear Snape's voice snarling in his ear - 'So eloquent, Potter!' - and gathered his wits. "Feathers," he said, raising the arm that had sprouted the brightly coloured plumage.
The man stared blankly at the feathers for a moment, blinking at them, before sighing and gesturing towards one of the biobeds. "One of the science geeks, are you?" he asked gruffly. "I told Stephens to leave those damn Thelestrian crystals alone, but would he listen? My punishment for past sins - to be hounded by idiot geniuses for the rest of my days. What's your name then?"
"Harry Potter," Harry said, just avoiding starting his sentence with 'er' again.
He - a doctor, apparently - frowned, but didn't comment on the fact that he clearly didn't recognise the name. "Alright then, hold still while I do a few quick scans to see what's wrong with you."
"Bloody bastards thought it would be amusing," Harry muttered to himself, obediently sitting as still as could. He was familiar enough with doctors, nurses, healers, medi-witches and all type of professional medics to know that if you did what they said, you'd probably get away faster. Although - and here he let his eyes take in the doctor's lithe form and couldn't help but smirk to himself - he was in no hurry to move further away from this particular medic.
Harry hadn't thought he'd said the last comment loudly enough to be heard, so he startled a little when the doctor responded, "Thought what would be amusing, Mr Potter?" he asked. "If you have anything that could enlighten me as to why you have feathers growing from your skin when your DNA registers entirely human I would love to hear it."
Deflating a bit, Harry let out a quick breath of air and slumped. "It was a prank. A reminder. Well, the feathers were. I could put up with the feathers. It's the whole throwing a long-distance portkey and consequent vomiting I could have lived without."
The doctor was staring at him rather blankly again, his eyebrows slowly rising across his forehead. If Harry hadn't been so worried about making a good impression it might have been funny.
"This is a starship, not a high school, Mr Potter. I don't know what a 'potkey' is but if I get the hands on the ensigns who thought it's be funny to cause another crew member to throw up be sure to tell 'em I'll ring their necks." The man finished his tirade by stabbing something that was not quite a needle into Harry's neck with what was undoubtedly more force than necessary.
On the hope of remaining vaguely diplomatic Harry tried his very best not to spit up the injection that his body had automatically rejected. As part of the core defence group that invaded the Muggle buildings to free the Wizarding kind being experimented on, Harry was one of many who Hermione had protected with a spell she designed to make a body excrete anything inserted into the body via injection or incision. Potions were primarily ingested orally so the spell meant that they were protected from a large proportion of Muggle medicine but could still be healed magically.
"Ah – what did you just try and give me?" Harry asked tentatively.
McCoy's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean 'try'?"
The urge to get rid of the fluid building in the back of his throat overwhelmed him and Harry had just enough time to grab a tissue before he coughed the contents of the injection back out of his body. He looked up at the Doctor sheepishly. "Sorry. It was a precautionary spell my friend used years ago – sort of redundant now but what with wizards not using needles I didn't see the point of getting rid of it."
The blank look just continued, although McCoy seemed a little affronted by seeing his medicine returned to him in such an unseemly manner.
"'Spell'? 'Wizards'? I'm of a mind to schedule you for a psych evaluation just this minute," the Doctor finally spluttered when the silence stretched.
Harry scowled furiously. While it was understandable that McCoy might not get the references about portkeys and entirely-human-DNA-feathers, the whole 'spell' and 'wizard' thing was pretty much a neon sign saying 'Me! I can do magic!'. Was it possible that Muggles had forgotten about the existence to magic? He laughed. Surely not.
"Really?" Harry asked. "But, I thought you people had it all worked out? That's why we left in the first place." Well, if they were going to be specific it was what the Muggles had done to them because of working it out that had been the real reason behind them leaving, but there was no point musing over semantics of a war that had ended two hundred and fifty something years ago.
When the stranger just continued to stare at him, eyes flicking between him, his feathers, the tissue, and the scanner that he still held, Harry figured that his best bet was just to come out with it and try and deal with the fall out when - and if - it happened. "You don't know anything about Magic, Wizards or the Eugenic Wars that ensued when you became aware of our existence?" he blurted out incredulously. After all, if he was going to let a little slip, may as well share the whole story, right?
"Well of course I know about the Eugenic Wars!" the man shouted back indignantly. Then added, almost embarrassed by saying it, "That had nothing to with - with magic."
Harry gaped at him. Had the Muggles really forgotten? How… how tragic. Really. They had chased a major part of their cultural and racial history from their very planet, nay solar system, and they didn't even recall what it was! "Nothing to do with - oh Merlin," Harry let out a bitter laugh, dropping his head to his hands, unsuccessfully avoiding his newly acquired feathers. He despaired of the human race sometimes, he really did. He glanced up into the curious brown eyes of his newest acquaintance. "The Eugenic Wars had everything to do with magic. Why the hell do you think they started in the first place?" His mind flittered back through the centuries and the face of the Dark Lord in his prime appeared for a moment, spells flying fast and thick at him, primarily, but also at the Muggles who had noticed, who watched too dumbstruck to try and duck. So many died. "Bloody Voldemort," he muttered.
"I've heard that name… Voldemort… wasn't he one of the leading researchers pioneering for human perfection?"
Harry only just kept himself from laughing aloud at that. While Voldemort had sort of been pioneering for human perfection, it was not the type of perfection Muggle imagined. And he had hardly been a researcher. If anything, he had been the most prominent victim of the Muggle researchers. His Horcruxes had been his pride and joy, but at the point when all the other test subjects had succumbed to death, they had kept Voldemort alive. Nothing quite like torture when the victim couldn't die. Some might argue that, after all the death he caused, Voldemort deserved everything he received at their hands. But only Harry had seen him at his worst, only he had seen what the Muggles had put him through. And no one, but no one, deserved that.
"'Researcher,'" he scoffed, turning back to the irony of that and burying the memories once more. "Oh if Hermione were alive today, how she'd scold you all. Megalomaniac running around killing people by the hundreds and he's remembered as a 'pioneering researcher'."
The Doctor scowled darkly at him. "How am I supposed to know any better? Most of the records of that time were destroyed during World War III! On that note, how do you know so much?"
Harry blinked hard. Really. Another war? Were the Muggles really so self-destructive? "World War III? But we'd left before that, I'm sure of it…" Both the First and Second World Wars had been initiated in the Magical World by hot shot Dark Lords taking their obssessions out on the rest of the world. He wasn't certain who the first had been, but everyone knew that World War II had been Grindelwald's fault. The uprising of a particularly hot-tempered and charismatic Muggle with an ambition for world domination hadn't helped, of course. Come to think of it, hadn't there been some sort of attempt at Eugenics then, too?
Thinking back on their ten-year pilgrimage through space, Harry did recall a group of people - quiet ones, the ones you have to look out for - turning back on the escape pods. As he remembered, they had been an independent, proud group, living in relative isolation only to be thrust onto a ship too small for the number of people living there. "Oh," he said. "The Zimbabweans. Stubborn nation. Must have made it back then." He'd say good for them, except if they really had been the cause of a Third World War he really didn't think it was all that 'good'.
Seeing that the doctor was still staring incredulously at him he bit back a sigh and attempted to explain properly. "Muggles are non-magic people. I'd assume by now that everyone still left on Earth is a Muggle. The people down on the planet I imagine you're still circling are, originally, from Earth. We left at the end of the Eugenic Wars so that any future wars of similar nature might be avoided. Or at least brought down upon only our people and not yours as well. We tried to bring everyone, but some must have slipped through our nets. They were difficult times and we needed to leave as swiftly as possible. Voldemort's rapid rise in power produced a massive increase in prejudice in both Magic and Muggle people - we had to leave before prejudice became fights and fights became war. Again."
Harry stopped talking and had to close his eyes as memories once more crowded forward. Flashes of blood and pain and friends torn apart… he opened his eyes and the bright light of the Medical Room chased most of the shadows back into hiding. "You can't tell the rest of your crew this," he whispered urgently. "If the human race has forgotten about magic again, all the better. But you must warn them not to send anything electric to the planet. It might take a little while due to the advancements you've no doubt made, but eventually your systems will get fried."
The stranger jumped, hand not hesitating as he reached for the communications panel on the wall beside the bed.
"Doctor McCoy to the Transporter Room, beam the away team up immediately!"
It was Harry's turn to jump a bit when a voice replied from the speaker barely moments later. He knew about telephones and even mobile phones, he'd brought up by Muggles after all, but after so many years going without, a disembodied voice surprised him.
"We can no longer get an accurate fix on the away team, Doctor," a thick Scottish accent said. "There's some kind of interference. I might be able to force a better if you reckon they're in immediate danger. If not, I'd prefer to wait it out."
Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at the doctor when he heard that. "Figures. The interference won't get better, it'll only get worse the more you probe at our magic. They're strong wards, hundreds of years old now, and they've only got stronger with each generation.."
The man seemed not so much frantic as resigned to worry as he asked, "Are the crew members in danger down there?"
Harry considered this. He had, foolishly perhaps, not considered the option of the Muggles going straight down to the surface without first exploring what the wards might do - after all, Muggle scanning had always been able to pick up Magic, although it never recognised it as such as the signatures of each Witch or Wizard differed so wildly. "In danger? Well, I'm guessing they're in uniform-" Harry allowed his eyes another quick sweep of the doctor's body. There really was something to be said about a man who didn't remind him - however distantly - of dead friends. "-so they'll stick out like a handful of sore thumbs, but as to whether their lives are in danger is entirely dependent on which quadrant they landed in. None of the houses will attack with intent to kill, but if they make it obvious that they don't have any magic and are human they will be faced with a lot of angry descendents.
"The peoples of the planet below are split into four basic houses, each house known for varying personal qualities - bravery, intelligence etcetera - and each house is a quadrant. The rivalries between houses goes back thousands of years, but that was overshadowed by the rivalry those people feel towards non-magic folk. When our existence was revealed to the human race as a whole they tried to use our most formidable attribute to breed a race of super humans. They slaughtered if we resisted. So we ran. And we hated. Our people are mostly united now, the old prejudices shoved aside by the need to survive. If the descendents of the families that lost loved ones find out that the descendents of the people who they believe to have slaughtered them are on the planet…" Harry trailed off.
"Shit," the Doctor summed up succinctly. "Jim's not big on subtlety. Knowing him, he introduced himself with a big 'Hey, we're from Earth, wanna be friends?' speech."
Ah. Not good. That would be rather like sending dear into the lion's den with big 'I'm lunch' sign hovering over their heads. Speaking of lions - "Well then you'd better hope they didn't land in Gryffindor, no one holds a grudge like they do."
"How do we get the crew members back on board the Enterprise?" Leonard asked. "If Scotty doesn't have a fix on them now and you reckon that signal's only going to get weaker, there's no way of getting them back."
"We?" Harry shot back, laughing briefly. "No, my good doctor, I'm afraid you and your crew are going to have to sit back and let the old fashioned hero do the rescuing this time. Can you get me coordinates of where they were last?" Maybe he was over-doing it just a tad, but the idea of a rescue mission, no matter how tame… well, it had been a while. And Hermione always had accused Harry of having a hero complex. Or a 'saving people thing' as Ron preferred to call it.
"Scotty. How's that signal doing?" the Doctor spoke to the comm device again.
There was only a hint of alarm in the Scott's voice as he replied, "Just a blip now, lad. We're going to have to wait this one out, danger or no danger. Disintegration happened too swiftly for me to try and boost it."
"What are the coordinates?"
"I'll send them up to you now."
After a brief delay as the data was received by the Doctor's handheld device and Harry tried to work out what points of reference 'Scotty' had been using for them, Harry felt rather like slamming his head to a desk. Preferably one of the good old sturdy, potion's smeared ones from Snape's old classroom. He was a practised head-slammer on those. "Slap bang in the middle of Gryffindor. Figures they'd land among the hot-heads." Harry clambered to his feet in lieu of bashing his head in. He daren't hope that Frederick had learnt any sort of subtlety in the three days since he'd seen the arrogant sod last so he could only cross his fingers that the man wasn't around to offend - or hurt - the crew members too much.
He shook the magicked feathers loose from his arm with a hot pulse of his own magic and grinned when the Doctor protested the mess loudly. One more lingering look at the handsome man before him Harry tried not to throw in a leer as he bid him goodbye before apparating from the medical bay.
If there was one thing about the rescue mission that Harry could feel grateful for it was its brevity. The multiple distance apparations, with three extra people as side-alongs for the first three and Spock for the forth, were exhausting. Harry had learnt long ago the proper control needed to stop the constant leak of magic that most wizards and witches unconsciously laid trail to wherever they went, which meant that he was able to expend more magic without tiring. It did not mean he was impervious to the rapid drop in energy levels. He could have done the rescue mission twice, three, four times more and still have magic to spare but he was rather happy he didn't need to.
The ten crew members, including the captain and the first officer, who had beamed down had landed in the centre of the Gryffindor quadrant – in the main town square to be exact – and, just as Dr McCoy had predicted, had promptly drawn a lot of attention to themselves. By the time Harry arrived a crowd had gathered, led by Frederick Potter and spouting the all-too familiar Muggle prejudices of long ago.
The Captain had already been hit by a rather weak stupefy, but luckily it only took Harry a few words of chastisement for the crowd to settle. Once it became clear that all that was going to happen was the returning of the Muggle strangers to their ship, the gawkers soon dispersed, only Fiona and the twins staying.
The first nine crew members Harry delivered back to the ship to the corridor outside Medical Bay where he had landed before and Harry took the time to direct them to carry the still unconscious captain down the hallway into the Doctor's care and to take some kind of anti-nausea medicine to counteract the effects of apparation before he returned one final time to pick up Spock. None of the crew members seemed particularly suspicious of his ability to transport them while their own technology could not, but Harry supposed that, were you to remove the Earthly hearsay surrounding magic, it didn't sound that ridiculous.
In spite of the fact that Harry and all of Wizarding kind predominantly spoke English, there was no suspicion that they were not simply aliens. And, taking the human element out of the equation, magic was just another power source that Harry's people had learnt to channel. Another alien race with another strange ability that humans couldn't quite comprehend – intriguing, certainly, but not worth the explosion of experimentation and demands for explanation that Magic had previously faced.
Harry bid Fiona and the twins a brief but fond farewell. They had been his best friends for the past seven years now and he would be sad to leave them, but what sorrow he felt was overshadowed by the sheer brilliance of his excitement at the unknown that the Muggles and their spaceship represented. It had been a long time since Harry had been faced with the opportunity to go on another adventure and by Merlin how he missed it!
He took the bag that one of the twins offered him that had a change of clothes and his photo albums in it. Harry didn't have many material objects that meant much of anything to him, but he'd made another three photo albums of all of his friends and family on top of the one of his parents that Hagrid had given him centuries ago. He believed that a good picture, a good memory, and a bright smile were the best ways to commemorate his long lost loved ones. Anything else caused him to dwell too much on the past.
Ready to go, Harry turned to the only remaining crew member and smirked softly at him. He had left this particular gentleman until last because, in spite of looking very much like a human it was obvious that he was not. Aside from the physical differences – the pointed ears, the strange eyebrows and the green-tinted skin – there was also a strange aura to him that anything with a Magical core could recognize, no matter their experience. It wasn't bad or powerful or even a Magic of its own – all beings had an aura of some kind – but it was very different. Very alien.
And what a mind the alien had! Harry only brushed the lightest of fingers across the surface of Spock's mind and had been rewarded with a firework display of information. He apologised for the intrusion, for it soon became obvious thatthe First Officer did not keep a tight hold of his mental barriers when not at risk of physically touching another being, but it had told Harry all that he needed to know.
The Captain and his crew were part of an inter-galactic organisation that tried to keep the peace and to explore the limitless expanse of space. They were like children at times; stumbling around in awe of just how cool their mission was, little boys with fancy toys that they could do what they liked with. At other moments, they were older than Earth; the alien's telepathy connecting him to his entire race and the vast majority of it ripped away in one day, leaving only a gaping sadness that even the psi-null humans sensed. Connection like that made Vulcans mature in a way that humans did not, in a way that made Harry feel as though he had found a kindred soul.
And if the revealing eyes - the only emotion on a stoic face - set in Spock's face were any testament to his true feelings, the sense of kinship was not one sided.
"I'm not quite as young as you're thinking," Harry had shared with a wink before the last apparation, hoping that a little joviality might go some measure towards foregoing the round of vomiting all first-time apparators experienced. He should have known that an alien - and one such as Spock - would not react in any way he could predict.
Spock had gone a little pale and the expressive eyebrows curving across his forehead rose to his hairline, but he had not so much as coughed. "How old are you?" he had asked mere moments after their landing, with only the slightest of quivers in his voice.
"You wouldn't believe me," Harry told him quietly. "Or if you did, you'd have to know why."
Spock's eyebrows lowered in an imitation of a frown. A fragment of a memory from when their minds had touched flickering behind eyes that were so strangely human. The twisted face of a man that couldn't die, and his saviour, his defeater, his mortal enemy and his hero - the young man who stood before him now - a flash of light, of that energy Harry called 'magic' and the aberration died. But Harry had not. Three parts of one whole that were never meant to be brought together and there, in the spaces between understanding, was the bizarre knowledge that Harry was - "Master of Death," Spock gasped out.
Harry bowed his head, tucking his chin to his breast bone for a second before raising his eyes again. "About 250," he answered Spock's previous question. "I don't know exactly - this planet's rotation is not exactly the same as Earth's and, well, I stopped counting after a while."
"When were you born?"
"1980," Harry whispered, as though expecting censure now in spite of the Vulcan's seeming acceptance.
"Then you are in the year of your 280th birthday," Spock stated simply.
Harry blanched. It didn't change anything materialistically, he supposed, but to have been thirty years out in his approximation… it said a lot. It was far past time for him to have left his people - or the people who had once been his - far behind.
"I can authorise a civilian pass to the nearest Federation planet if that is your wish?" Spock asked, the deduction that Harry did not want to stay on that planet was hardly a challenge for his genius.
"Yeah. That'd be… yeah. Thanks."
"Your age surprises you."
Harry shrugged half heartedly. "A bit. Shouldn't do, I guess, but it means that it's been over a century since the last of my children died. We're a long lived people, Officer, but I have seen my friends, my wife, my children, and so many more die of old age."
Spock gazed solemnly at him while he got lost in memories of the past and offered simply, "I grieve with thee."
Was it strange to look into the face of someone who appeared to be older than him and wonder at how young they were?
Then Harry shook himself clean of the memories of the past and smiled brightly. If he was to make a new future for himself - one in which the shadows of a previous life were just that - shadows, not constant ghosts breathing at his shoulder, then he must start anew.
"I'm afraid I brought nothing with me except a memory or two, so I shall be rather useless for the rest of the trip."
"The Federation looks kindly upon people who risk their personal health for that of the Captain and crew members of their starships - in particular their flagship," Spock informed him. "A monetary reward will be awarded to your bank account as soon as you have shared your details with them."
"Flagship, eh?" Harry teased, "That must make you young things the best of the best then?"
Spock raised an eyebrow saying, "indeed."
Harry laughed delightedly. "Well, I shan't keep you from your duties any longer, Officer. If you could just let me know where I might be able to apply for living quarters I'll be out of your hair."
"A curious turn of phrase since you have never been 'in my hair'," Spock replied blandly, a low hum of amusement hidden in his tone.
Harry laughed delightedly. "Indeed. But then I'm sure that by now you are well used to the curiosities of human idioms. I wonder how many of your colleagues have worked out that you know more than you let on?"
Spock did not reply to this comment, though there was a flash of amusement in eyes that were too human to mask his emotions entirely. "If you return to the Medical Bay I will have a yeoman meet you there. It would also be advisable for Dr McCoy to give you a complete physical as you have no medical records."
"Yes, that is a good idea," Harry murmured in agreement, pausing to consider an entirely different kind of 'physical' he would be more than happy to perform for the gorgeous young doctor. He caught himself before the thought developed to far a bid farewell to the First Officer, and headed towards the Medical Bay as suggested. He should be ashamed of himself, really. Two minutes with a handsome fellow who didn't remind him of lost friends and it was as though Harry were a horny teenager all over again.
Mind you, he supposed he couldn't be help entirely accountable for having a suddenly overactive sex drive. Harry had only had sex once since his beloved Ginny had died and that once had been an unmitigated disaster. The wizarding population of the world had never been particularly prolific and when you took that entire population and put it into a confined space it did not take ten years for everyone to be friends of friends with everyone. To find out that the young man he'd been quietly dating was the great-great grandson of Viktor Krum's little brother had rather put a spanner in the works.
And Harry did have the body of a twenty-something year old. To be faced with a whole ship full of gorgeous young officers who he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt weren't related to him was a strange, blissful sort of torture. He supposed that there might be a relative of the Dursleys' floating about somewhere, but given the percentage of Americans and Aliens in the crew Harry felt safe in the assumption that they were not floating about on this particular spaceship. The Dursleys had hated foreigners as much as they did magic.
His musings were mostly superfluous, though. Harry had always been a one-person-at-a-time kind of guy – even when Ginny looked old enough to be his grandmother he had eyes only for her – and now he had his eyes set on the grumpy doctor he'd met earlier. To others it might seem odd that he could meet someone for a few minutes and decide then and there that he'd like to try and love them, and it had certainly got Harry into messes before, but he was a Potter and the godson of a Black; neither of whom did things by halves.
"Knock knock," Harry called cheerfully as he arrived at the Medical Bay, the automatic doors swishing open before he had a chance to knock properly.
"Oh good, you're back," Dr McCoy grouched sarcastically, though there was concern in his voice that was unmistakable and totally unsurprising, given the captain who was lying prone on one of the beds behind him.
"He's in no danger," Harry reassured him. "The – ah – energy that was directed at him was 'set to stun' I believe is the terminology you use?"
The Doctor snorted. "And I suppose you're the one to blame for the number of hypos I just had to administer?"
Harry shrugged. "Apparation is a tricky business. It's like being squeezed into a very small tube and sucked up a straw and bam! Next thing you know, you're the right size again but in some place completely different. Doesn't help that the gravity settings on your ship are slightly different from the planet surface either."
McCoy had winced at the description, but like the other crew members didn't seem to fussed about the idea of being instantaneously transported from one place to another. Muggles really were too creative and clever for their own good, Harry considered.
"D'you want me to wake the Captain up? He'll do so by himself in a couple of hours anyway," Harry offered.
"Best to leave him. Damn fool boy doesn't get half as much sleep as he ought," McCoy grouched in a fond sort of way that made Harry smile foolishly. "What are you doing littering my Medical Bay? If you want to return dirtside you better beam back now before we leave."
"I'm staying," Harry said instead. "Mr Spock said he could get me a civilian pass to the next Federation planet if I wished and I took him up on that. As to why I'm here here, not just wandering around irritating random crew members, Mr Spock suggested that I get a complete physical so that I have some kind of medical record should an emergency arise."
The Doctor nodded, then waved him over one of the biobeds down from where the Captain was still out cold. "Hop up here then and we'll start with the basics. Full name?" he asked, reaching for his ever-present PADD and opening the relevant form file.
"Harry James Potter," Harry replied and bit his lip in preparation for what would probably be the next question.
Sure enough – "Date of Birth?"
"31st July 1980, by the reckoning of the Earth calendar at the time," Harry replied honestly, laughing out loud when McCoy sent a glare that rivaled any of Snape's. "No, honestly. I sort of accidentally became the Master of Death and haven't aged a day since."
"'Sort of accidentally became Master of Death'," McCoy repeated back mockingly. "Of course you did. Because I don't get enough of that kind of shit from Jim. I'm going to need a whole different set of forms for the barrel o' fucks that kind of information's gonna kick up."
"Sorry?" Harry attempted to apologise, still fighting down the laughter.
The Doctor shook his head and closed his eyes momentarily in a give-me-strength sort of gesture before eying Harry critically for a moment. "I don't know why I bother being surprised anymore. I'll just put you down as 21, shall I? That's old enough to be legal just about anywhere but young enough that it'll take people a while to notice the whole not-aging thing."
"Thanks, Doc," Harry said, putting as much gratitude behind his words as he could. "You know, you're awfully accommodating about this. Most people wouldn't believe a tenth of some of the stuff I've said."
"It's strange, I'll give you that, but I'm starting to get used to that. God help me."
The rest of the interview and the physical that followed it followed along the same lines - standard questions with non-standard answers decorated with enough snark it'd make Snape proud. Although some of the niggling worries that almost three centuries of living should have put to rest were finally absolved. Other than a strange energy that McCoy could detect but not identify there was nothing at remarkable about Harry's biology - to all intents and purposes he was a perfectly average bloke in his mid twenties.
"Although you could do with eating more," the doctor grouched, poking at Harry's ribs.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I eat plenty. I just still have the metabolism of a teenager."
"Well then eat more," was McCoy's only response to that. "I still don't like this weird energy my tricorder's picking up off you," he muttered, more as an aside than to Harry.
"What's weird about it?" Harry couldn't help but ask. His first assumption was that it was his magic, or possibly whatever it was that kept him immortal, but if he knew how it was behaving, maybe he'd get a better idea of what it actually was.
McCoy pressed some buttons on his tricorder and the screen above Harry's biobed switched to the scanner view, showing a distinctly human shape, almost pulsing with whatever the scanner was detecting. The strange thing about it was that it although it darkened then lightened again - and did so in time with his heart, Harry noted absently - the energy clung specifically to the body, none of it broke lose.
Harry immediately knew what the energy was, and knew that he was the only one who would look like that under one of these scanners. Not directly because of the Deathly Hallows, but thanks to how long they'd kept him alive. The energy was indeed his magic, and anyone else would be leaking it like the doctor might expect - they couldn't help it, it was in the nature of such energy. But Harry had decades, centuries, longer than anyone else to practice control over himself and his body.
For years, trying to keep all of his magic tied to his body, as closely as his skin, had been a constant task. Harry had, at one point, spent well over a year neither eating nor drinking nor sleeping, just clinging to his magic, hugging it tight to himself and not letting the smallest of tendrils free. It had been a terrible, dark time for him falling in the shadow of the last of his beloved childrens' death. For their sake he had not allowed himself to mourn for Ginny when she had passed, so when darling Lily had breathed her last, Harry had let all the grief of all his lost friends settle deep into his bones.
He had lived, of course, where no other man could. He had lived to curse the title of 'Boy-Who-Lived'. And he had learnt the beginning of control. It became his obsession over the following decades, to keep his magic all to himself for longer and longer periods of time. It was difficult, at first, but the rush of feeling magic literally pumping through his veins was addictive so he kept trying. Now he could do it without thinking. He controlled his magic totally, even in sleep. The initial rush was no longer there, but Harry believed that the taste of magic - of energy - on his tongue and in his blood was probably what had kept him from depression for so long.
He said none of this to McCoy, murmuring instead; "It's my magic."
"It's beautiful," the doctor whispered back, before collecting himself and turning red at the tips of his ears. "How are you keeping it inside you? It must be bursting to come out. Or is it instinctual?"
Harry chuckled a little at the last, "Far from it," he corrected. "I worked very hard at the control I have now. My magic builds up a bit, but I've had plenty of time controlling the power levels of my spells as well, so I know plenty of ways of expending a bit of energy." Harry winked and grinned at McCoy when he said that, pleased when the fading blush reappeared.
Unfortunately (for Harry and his hopes of asking the doctor out, at least) it was then that the yeoman Spock had promised to direct him to his temporary quarters arrived. She was a stunning blonde woman with a no-nonsense attitude that Harry felt certain she'd adopted in the hope that people might pay more attention to what she was saying than what she was wearing.
"Hello, Ms Rand," McCoy greeted her, making Harry feel absurdly jealous at just a small amount of attention not being directed at him.
"Leonard," 'Ms Rand' replied, pouting a little, "How many times have I asked you to call me Janice?"
"Probably the same number of times you've asked Jim not to," McCoy replied, turning away from both her and Harry to put away the medical tricorder he was still holding and switch off the screen above the biobed. "If you're looking for him, he's still unconscious, and likely to stay that way for a couple of hours."
"Oh no, I'm looking for Mr Harry Potter. Commander Spock has assigned him a room until we get to Colony 5."
"That's me," Harry put in, waving and smiling in greeting, before offering her his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Janice Rand."
"Mr Spock tells me that you're originally from Earth," she said, shaking his hand briefly and dropping it again as quickly as she could whilst still being polite. "That your ship was one of the first that achieved long distance space travel."
"Something like that," Harry agreed amiably. "I'm afraid we've not had any contact with Earth since not long after we left. I apologise if I offend you in any way - I'm sure my manners are very outdated."
McCoy glowered a bit at Harry, offered a grumbling response of, "Just remember your 'P's and 'Q's and I'm sure your accent will do the rest."
Harry bit back a chuckle and smiled his most disarming smile at the Doctor. "Should I wait for you to pick me up from my quarters, Doctor, or shall I come and collect you from here?"
"This isn't some damn fool prom date!" McCoy spluttered. "You can meet me in the mess along with everyone else."
He fought down the disappointment that rose a little bitterly at the absolute conviction that McCoy declared their dinner to not be a date, his smile turning ever so slightly more brittle. "I don't know my way to the mess yet, Dr McCoy," Harry reminded gently.
McCoy huffed and scowled some more but the barest hint of his blush was back and Harry allowed a little hope that maybe the strange, caustic Doctor was just uncomfortable with the attention, not unappreciative. "Meet me here," he offered gruffly, turning away from Harry and from Rand both, and escaping to his office.
Rand raised an eyebrow at Harry, inspecting him speculatively for a minute before a sly grin broke out. "You really fancy him, don't you?"
Harry shrugged and tried to look ashamed but only succeeded in looking a bit smug. "I like people who'd still tell you an idiot even if they're in love with you."
"Well Leonard'll certainly do that," she replied, smiling politely as Harry let her leave the sickbay first. "But you should know that if you break his heart it's not just the Captain - his best friend - who'll come after you. He's saved the lives of just about everyone on board in one way or another."
"Good," Harry agreed. "Although that warning won't put me off. My previous serious relationship was with my best friend's little sister. And she had six older brothers." It was funny how, in hindsight, the various painful ways described to him in which he might die if he hurt Ginny were now a fond memory. At the time they had been bloody terrifying. Especially Charlie's - the man hadn't been a dragon tamer for nothing.
Harry hesitated, before deciding to go with the closest approximation of the truth he could without breaking the I'm-only-twenty-one cover. "She died. There was a pretty mean virus going around - a couple of our youngest and oldest had died from it already - and my Ginny was always a fighter, but sometimes…"
"Sometimes life just fights harder, huh?" Rand said, placing a warm hand of support on his shoulder. "It must be tough, on a colony so far from medical advancements."
Harry bristled a little at that - the population of their planet was nothing in comparison to Earth, but magic could do things that Muggles simply could not. And Ginny had been the only one of their generation still alive when she'd finally moved on. But, having seen only a glimpse of the instruments McCoy had at hand, perhaps she did have a point.
"She meant a lot to you?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, yeah she did. How could you tell?"
"The look on your face - it's the look my granddad gets when he talks about my grandma. She passed away about a decade ago."
"I'm sorry," Harry commiserated. "And yeah, me and Ginny were childhood sweethearts. Well, kinda. She was my best mate's little sister, so mostly off limits. But it got to the point where he just didn't have a say anymore.
"We got married straight out of school, which Ron and her other brothers weren't best pleased about, but they'd all known me for seven years by then and knew I'd do right by her. And I think I did, in the long run."
Rand was looking at him oddly by then and Harry realised that he'd started talking without thought for the fact that, if he was to stick to his story, he'd only had a year or two more with Ginny before she died.
"Are you sure you're ready for another relationship?" Rand asked seriously. "Because you have to know, if you're serious about dating Leonard, you have to be serious about long term, too."
Again, Harry paused to consider the right way to answer. Eventually he settled with, "I did the rebound thing and, frankly, I hated it. I don't want stepping stones, I want the rest of my life."
"You only just met Leonard," Rand reminded him. "You don't know him. He doesn't know you. Hell, you don't know guys. From the sounds of it, you're whole love life so far has been all about this Ginny girl."
Harry tilted his head at her, curious as to why she'd say that. "Love life isn't sex life. I never cheated on Ginny, but we didn't get together until we were sixteen. I was a horny teenage boy living at a boarding school. Then I was a twenty-year-old widower with a bed that was far too cold. Why do you think I don't know guys?"
Rand scowled a little, but Harry could tell she wasn't too offended by what he'd said. He was exaggerating quite a bit anyway. He was squashing two hundred and eighty years of life into twenty.
"And I've always said that you should approach a relationship thinking about ways that it might succeed, not ways it might fail. And given what I've seen of Doctor McCoy so far, and your loyalty to him - well there's a whole load of reason for success right there," Harry continued with a smile.
"Fair enough," Rand agreed, then stopped by one of the doors. "This is your temporary room. If you're serious about Leonard your first step's going to be finding a reason to make it permanent."
"Any ideas?" Harry asked teasingly, glancing about the small room as he placed his bag on the bed.
"Nothing that immediately comes to mind, but I'll let you know if I think of something," she replied with a half smile. "The bathroom's just through that door there and is shared with the bedroom on the other side, so make sure you lock both doors. There's access to most of the civilian information through the desktop computer, although we're out of range of some of the smaller data storing companies. I've sent you a data package containing all the information I could think of that you'd need to get started here. There are maps, your ID code, and some basic how-to guides. If you need any further help, just ask one of the crew or send me a message. Do you think you can make your way back to the medical bay without too much trouble?"
Harry blinked at the onslaught of information, but smiled warmly at her. It was obvious that she hadn't got the job through just her looks, with organisational skills like those. "I'll be fine," Harry reassured her. "It's a bit of a culture shock, that's certain, but I'm pretty good at adapting."
She looked at him dubiously - so far as she knew he was a simple, old-Earth colonist, after all - but she didn't question him, just nodded and left him to it.
If Harry was being entirely honest with himself, the change from being the freak cousin who lived in the cupboard under the stairs to boy hero, saviour of all wizard-kind was a lot larger shock than what he was going through now. To someone who'd only gone to Muggle school until the age of ten it seemed like the only way to get technology like that on board this spaceship was through magic - and a lot of it, too - but it didn't surprise him that Muggles had managed to make what should have been impossible a fact of every day life. So while it was all very strange, and a little absurd, the strange technology was nothing compared to being told that he was a wizard for the first time.
Harry moved to his bag and pulled out the few belongings he had. The extra clothes went into the wardrobe, and the photo albums he placed upright along the shelf above the bed. There was a toothbrush and a bar of soap that Harry blessed the twins for having the foresight to pack and then there, underneath everything else, were the Deathly Hallows. Following him again.
Harry had lost count of the number of times he'd tried to throw away both the wand and the stone. Once, in despair, he'd even tried throwing away the cloak too. But to no avail. Every time he'd snapped the wand or thrown the stone into a lake, they appeared the next day as good as new. He'd given up trying to get rid of them, but he was certain that the twins had packed them, and he knew he hadn't.
Glancing at the clock provided for him on the bedside table, Harry noted that it was only half past one in the afternoon. His watch was still attuned to his old home, and read six thirty. Considering that he would no doubt be called to the Captain's office for a debriefing once the man woke up again, Harry set the Deathly Hallows on his bedside table and kicked his bag under the bed. Then he toed off his shoes and curled up on the bed to grab a nap whilst he could. It was likely to be a long day.